. . .

“I don’t,” starts Mr. Loggins.

He stops.

He tries again: “I don’t —”

There is something rising in him now. There are rivers of sensation rising from the feet of him to his crown. He takes deep breaths but he cannot control them. He is dizzy and lines of light splay themselves across his field of view, as if he were standing in a dissolving, rising world.

His eyes roll up. They flutter madly. His body twitches. It gives a jerking dance. One hand comes down hard on his desk, half-supports him, as he topples heavily to the floor.

Tom frowns.

“Mr. Loggins?”

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